Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

College Decisions vs Retirement

I remember 1980, thinking about college and struggling with my major. Education major? English major? Education major with English minor? The other way around? Didn't matter, less than a year out of college I was in the computer field. 

Now on the other side of my career I have another set of choices. Stock Index Fund? Fee-based fund? All Fixed income funds? And this time around, what I pick actually matters for the rest of my life. You pick the wrong choices or pick the wrong year to retire and you are in trouble. Retire in an "up" year and you are golden, but if you retire right before a slump -- well, that graph is terrifying, because that money is gone. 

Retirement. It's on the horizon. I haven't had to think about the rest of my life since college, and I don't like it. 

4k

I suppose I can say I did a 4K without even noticing.

About a hundred posts ago I crossed the 4,000 post mark. It was only today that I noticed. It is entirely possible that 100 days ago I made a fuss about post 4,oo0 and I have simply forgotten.

I made quite a fuss on post 1,000. So, so long ago.

So, another greeting for the new 4,000. Hello to all you Dots out there, big and small. That includes the five fine folks in China: 欢迎 to you. (I trust that says "Welcome.") 

Don't think this will end until Typepad closes shop.

Booster Booster!

Start counting, because the CDC says that in February I get another Covid shot. Of course, I have to assume this one will also do no good. How would a person know if they had any immunity? You don't know. Four shots and no safety. Still staying in.

I am a little ashamed to say I heard about this 6 minutes and 14 seconds in to the Late Show monologue.

Weekly Paint Progress: 10/28

This week the Buffalo went from this:

... to this:

He was originally: 

I feel he is done. I made up a few things, and added some things I felt should have been there --even if they weren't. That  white / black line on his back is not representational but I like it.

He's still kind of floating a bit but I think I got too fussy at the top, so I didn't want to overdo the bottom too.

Rewriting the Novel: It's Fun Again

Well, even though it is always the last thing to do with my discretionary time, I am enjoying the book again now that I'm done with the ending. 

I have made myself calculate how far I am every day every time I write, and it looks like I am 83% done with the first draft. The end is in sight, and the only remaining mystery is how she does not starve to death after she is abandoned.

I thought about having someone throw out some congealed oatmeal ala Jane Eyre, but it's set in Oklahoma and it would get very dusty. I wonder if Charlotte sat at her desk thinking, "Is anyone going to believe this? Or is this overused, having someone throw out oatmeal? Is it too convenient? Should it be gruel? Is that the same as oatmeal?" (Charlotte Brontë looks up oatmeal and gruel.) "Ah," she says, "I must use gruel, to parallel the gruel in the orphanage. Charlotte re-reads the entire book looking for references to gruel to see if she has overused gruel and wishes someone like her friend Ada Lovelace would invent software to help people process words.

Halloween Costume

I vaguely remember a work email that says we can dress in costume during a zoom party the Thursday before Halloween.

The only thing that comes to mind this year is to put on my paper hazmat suit, and the swim goggles, and the air filter mask Gary used one time when killing bugs and go as Me Leaving the House.

Kind of a downer though. 

I could fall back on my fallback, which is Madonna. This is a recent photo.

I have a wig I could braid, a kimono, and then add a chunky necklace around my head. And on a zoom call I could have the original photo as my background.

It feels, though, as if I should do something with the opera mask or the fez I bought in November 2019, too late for Halloween that year, the last Halloween in Normal time.

I can't decide. There are two opportunities: the work party on Thursday the 28th, and then of course there's still the Friday before the 31st. Creepy mask sans fez might be good to just slip on for the work party, and then Full Madonna for the next day.  

Hard to say. Nice to be able to acknowledge the holiday, anyway.

Red Hat Society

There was once a time in the 1990s when you couldn't go to a tea room without seeing ladies sporting red hats with purple trim. There were the Red Hat Society, and back when they were new I was still too young to join. They were all ladies over fifty who dared to be fun, even though they were growing old. They faded out of my thoughts, possibly because I didn't see many of them at the rock concerts I attended.

Yesterday I thought of them again, Now that I am almost sixty (next August) I thought thatI would pass the age requirement.

But now there is no longer an age requirement to be a fun, distinctive older woman in the Red Hat Society.  So now you don't need to be old to be old enough to not act your age. I shake my head and shake my cane.

Allowing any age into the society perverts the point. It's like repeating the Lord's Prayer in church. Given an example of how not to pray in public with vain repetition, we now publicly vainly repeat it, and now the Red Hats are a society honoring aging women that any twenty-year old can join. What kind of horseshit is this, as my fun grandmother would say. 

I suppose it is ageist, or anti-ageist, or somehow wrong to exclude young women because of their age, and that makes sense, but ... still, something wiped out the Red Hats. Perhaps their age policy, or maybe the pandemic closing all the tea houses. Or Trump forever changing what 'red hat' means. Or perhaps women my age, even the fun ones, are now invisible to me. That would be sad.

A Message From My Colon.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ellen's lower intestine, Colin Bowel.

I said nothing when she  spoke ill of me in the past, But now she has gone too far. She claims that it is fear of the new car that upsets her digestion. No. I upset her digestion. I run her life.

Now that I have matured I feel I can't be expected to give my all the way I used to, but when I do, I think I do a solid job. However, she is trying to use mechanical means to control me, to quell my spirit now that I am old, and that will not do.

That's why I send her back to the bathroom every time she leaves the house, just to remind her who is in charge. 

I felt I needed to give a rebuttal.

 

 

Doctor's Visit

I was at the neurologist, IN PERSON. Terrifying. Happily, he did not try to shake my hand like he usually does. 

I was calm, until he got to the part of the exam in which he touches both sides of my face to test for any facial sensory loss. 

I pulled back. "You're touching my face!"

"Yes, does it feel the same on both --"

I wanted to swat his hands away, but I don't think I did. "Stop touching my face!" 

"I washed my hands. Does it feel the same on both sides?"

"Yes!" I said, and thought, "Get off my face! I don't even touch my own face." (Actually it's entirely possible I said all those things and swatted his hands away. I was unprepared.)

I then began to think maybe I am being too vigilant. He reassured me that if I came down with the Covid (unspoken: like if maybe someone else touches my face) I can come right to his office  and get some monoclonal antibodies. So that's great. He did say only about a dozen of his patients had gotten sick and only one even went in the hospital. (And I am sure he touched many more faces than that.)

In fact, many things are great in this situation. I can work from home. I live where vaccines and tests are available. I have no kids to worry about. My boss already knew I was immunocompromised, so no big revelations. I'm not on the really heavy duty medication that would wipe out my entire immune system instead of half. I should be much much calmer than I am. 

The next day I thought about touching my face, but I couldn't do it.

Car Alexa

Gary was listening to this commercial:

"LOOK AT THAT!" he said. "THAT'S A BMW! THAT'S WHAT WE SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT. WE COULD HAVE THE ALEXA IN THE CAR!"

"Gary. That is what we bought. BMW owns Mini. We do have the Alexa in the car."

"NO! YOU NEVER TOLD ME THAT!"

"Well on the one day you drove the new car, I tried to show you, but you shouted that you needed absolute silence."

(And, to be fair, I respect that. The car is a little intimidating. Each week when I walk out to the garage and open the car door I immediately backtrack to the bathroom, because driving it upsets my stomach a bit. Or else leaving the house upsets my stomach a bit.)

Also, that couple doesn't have Siri always listening for commands at the same time. If they did Siri would but in and respond to the Alexa command with "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

You'd think he'd want to go out play with the car immediately, but no. They just really haven't bonded.

Weekly Paint Progress: 10/21

This week the Buffalo went from this:

... to this:

... and now I hate it. It needs more depth in the green. It's in the middle stage: I need to remember I hate the middle stage.

A Clairvoyant MS Symptom

On Wednesday the 6th my brother called and complained about coughing, malaise. This has been his baseline for the last month, most noticeable following a medical procedure  the week before. I didn't think any more about it.

Later that afternoon I noticed my left leg was tingling. It went away after I walked a few paces. Then it came back, and increased, and spread. Not constant though, sometimes it stopped for a few minutes.

On the next Monday my brother wound up in the hospital, and then Tuesday my neurologist replied to my email about my tingling with "It's probably stress making an old lesion flare up again." I realized Dave had started complaining about being ill last Wednesday, the day the tingling started. 

"Duh," you say, "Why didn't you write off the tingling as stress?" Well, my tingly right hand has always been my stress-ometer. This is the first time my legs let me know I was stressed. But, now that I know that my whole body has psychic diagnostic abilities that can identify when situations are about to deteriorate, I will let Dave know. "Heads up!" I will say, "My legs / hand / uppper lip is sending subconscious electrical signals that you are about to land in the ICU." 

Since then, President Clinton has stolen Dave's thunder by being put in an ICU with the same problem. My brother and I speculate a lot about if Dave is getting the same treatment Bill C. is getting. "I bet William Jefferson Clinton's doctor isn't telling him they don't know what kind of bacteria it is."

They found his bacteria and he got back home yesterday, and while I know he isn't completely out of the woods, today my leg stopped tingling. That's a good sign.

A Sense of False Security

I have thought myself clever by scratching any facial itches with the earpiece of my glasses. I figure it's behind by ear, sheltered from Covid, no one's going to be coughing behind my ear.

Today I realized that I have not cleaned the actual earpieces of my eyeglasses since before the pandemic began. Time to soak the glasses in Lysol.

Work Love

Last Monday I dryly said something snide and a co-worker I had only met a week earlier said, "Oh, Ellen, I love you." A few days later I heard the same declaration from my boss.

This made me uncomfortable, because in one week my female coworkers said "I love you" two hundred percent more often than my family ever said it when I was growing up. 

Sure, I ate it up quietly last week, but it seems to me an "I love you" comes pretty cheap these days. When did this start? Did it start with Leo Buscaglia and Princess Diana? Is it because they promoted hugs, but now we can't touch each other as freely, so we toss out "I love you" as casually as "Gesundheit?"

Mind you, I am all for not touching; I'd take a casual I love you over a hug any day. You can't ignore a hug. You can't skate past it with a question about deadlines. 

I suppose it's all a reflection of the more open, transparent culture we're trying to adopt at TeddyJ, and that's fine. I'll just need some time to reciprocate.

Groceries

I submit the grocery shopping order once a week. I don't add things directly to the shopping application, I still add them to the Alexa shopping list and then shop form the on the grocery store application.

It's an unnecessary extra step because I am too crotchety to change my ways, but at least I'm not as crotchety as Gary. He writes a list.

A list in ink, on paper.

And on the top of the sheet of paper he writes:

1. His name, first and last
2. The date he made the list.

I don't know why. Perhaps he doesn't want thinks his groceries confused with the groceries from all the other I husbands and households I maintain. And perhaps he thinks I am filing his old orders in a special filing cabinet, which is why he needs the date. 

"Gary Schmidt 9/9/2021

Cottage cheese" 

It's just so weird.

Ring Light

I don't remember the first of my coworkers to purchase a ring light or halo light for the Zoom calls. Pretty sure it was post-pandemic. 

All I know is that it breaks the first beauty rule, which is to deceive. Because I can see your fake lighting. Because you wear glasses. 

Or, sometimes, even without the glasses. Look at this pupil.

That's the pupil of Ed Robertson from Barenaked Ladies.

 

He's clearly working, and he's paid to look like a rock star. I am not.

However, my duties have recently changed, and now I work a lot on Zoom. A ring light might soften my scowl lines, but it can't conceal the wattle which now accounts for a third of the real estate on my face.

And you know what else? I see that you all have your laptops stacked up on books to give you a flattering Streisand camera angle but I only do that when the zoom call includes the Bigwigs. I am keeping my laptop on my belly as I lounge in bed. This is what you get:

I once cared about the wattle, but now I see it as a second and third smile. And to be perfectly honest, I will brush my hair and change out of that t-shirt before work. And of course I'll add a Zoom background so I don't look as comfortable. But that's all you're getting, work people. At some point Ring lights can only do so much.

Shatner in Space

I have been through all the videos purporting to show Shatner in Space. 

Pressing nose to window? Check.

Being moved by the vulnerability of life? Check.

Experiencing weightlessness? Not so much.

He does not float. (Also, therefore, he is not a witch.)

I mean, I know he's ninety and not as agile and lightweight as the other passengers, but I'd  think one of the young folks could have stopped doing backflips to spot Captain Kirk, maybe. Pass him around over their heads maybe. 

Weekly Paint Progress: 10/14

This week the Buffalo went from this:

… to this:

He’s loose! I like him. He needs to be a little darker behind his armpit again.

Rewriting the Novel: Zeno’s Paradox

I would tell you that I am 75% done with the book calculated by word count, but it seems every time I write nowadays I end up with fewer words. It’s not because I’m editing, either. It’s like the Missing Dollar riddle.

The fun parts are in first draft form, but I have almost nothing written for the middle or the bit directly after, because that is the dark night of the soul and unpleasant. 

I should not care so much about how close I am to the end of the first draft, but now that I’ve plotted out the ending, it feels like the end is in sight. Yet I’m dragging my feet. I don’t know why: I’m going to enjoy writing the end, now that I know exactly what it’s going to be. But I think this is like painting. I love the finishing touches but by then I am so sick of it I ignore some last needed bits — that extra depth on the sundials, or the cast shadows on everything. 

I could just put it away, but things make sense now. The puzzle pieces are falling into place. I think I’m at the part of the painting when I like it, and I fear the next brushstroke will make it all go wrong. And that makes no sense - you can re-paint an oil painting, you can rewrite a book — in fact, you’re supposed to rewrite a book.

It’s been a week since I sorted out the ending. I should be having fun. Why isn’t this fun?

New Manners

There have been some surprising social events mentioned recently by The Young Folks at Work. I was familiar with destination weddings and promposals, but the three below were new to me.

Bachelor party weekends - back in my day, men of the bridal party drank and drove to various strip joints and then recovered in time for the rehearsal dinner the next day. Evidently at some point people realized this was a bad idea and now the men hole up in a big house for a solid weekend a month before the wedding. They drink, but sober up for the drive back. I approve this change.

Diaper parties - back in my day, women had to suffer through dreadful baby showers. Now, the men have to endure baby showers too, only they report there is no acknowledgment of the impending baby, talk of baby, advice about baby, just beer and possibly football, and a package of diapers dropped off at the door. You know, just focusing on the crap part of the baby. Sounds just as awful as the distaff version. I do not approve.

Baby sprinkles - back in my day, my mother was the only person I knew who knew you don’t give a baby shower for a second baby. All second babies of my acquaintance got baby showers. Evidently, enough Moms told enough daughters and the daughters rebranded the Second Baby Shower as a Baby Sprinkle. The presents are limited so there won’t be duplicates of the original baby shower.  If that means the only presents are diapers, in that case I approve, but then how is this not a Diaper Party? Is it the gender of the invitees? I don’t know the nuances of this.

Baseball

Well, last week the Cardinals were on the cusp of the playoffs, and then, ex-Cardinal Albert Pujols came up to bat as a pinch hitter in the bottom of the ninth inning, and everything fell apart.

You will notice I blame Pujols, not the unfortunate Cardinals pitcher swapped in moments earlier, who then almost immediately threw a walk-off home run to the Dodgers. You can watch it below.

So sure, we lost. But we lost with drama. The king can’t die from colitis, he has to die with his boots on, or assassinated, or gloriously usurped. This finish was so much better than if they’d been ahead of us by one run for five innings and then time ran out.

A friend had an even better attitude, he said “The Streak was my series.” I like that, the World Series is only seven games and The Streak was what, 17? Much better than a Series. 

 

 

Coricidin

Months ago:

Gary: “My nose is stuffed up. I need some Co-RICE-uh-din.”

Me: “You need what?”

Gary: (louder) “CO-RICE-UH-DIN.”

Me: “Well then buy some?”

Last Week:

Gary: “We need to buy more Co-RICE-uh-din. We are almost out.”

Me: “Show me.”

Even after I showed him numerous commercials in which it is pronounced “co-ruh-CEE-din,” he will not budge.

Admittedly, my family bought many containers of “par-MEE-zhun” cheese, but I eventually got it straightened out.

Britney vs Her Father

Big news last week was that Britney Spears is “free” from the conservatorship her father controls.

People are compassionate. They empathize with Britney. They know how they’d feel in her situation. I empathize with her father. At least, I can see what’s motivating him. 

Let’s re-cast this. Let’s say it’s Bill Gates, drop-out, fresh out of his garage holding a floppy with MS-DOS, and he’s earned scads of money from his talent. Then he becomes seriously, self-admittedly, bipolar. (Symptom one: spending 30 million dollars to build a state-of-the 1990s-era mansion.)

Pretend that Bill’s parents become concerned because their son’s doing all the Bipolar Type 1 things: spending money recklessly, being paranoid, and especially, having random sex.

The random sex is a concern because, I swear, the Tinder scam artists target mentally ill people. “I can’t wait for our date” followed by, “I was on my way over and this police officer has arrested me for no reason and wants five grand to let me go, can you PayPal me?” 

Wouldn’t they need to look at Bill’s texts? Especially the ones that say, “Stop listening to your parents, marry me and I’ll make you happy. No pre-nup, though.” 

Someday I will have to turn off CNN when they are shocked to report Britney is penniless and in the hospital because she got in a fist fight with some random paramour whom she claims is a spy from Mars, and there was no conservatorship to save her from herself. They’ll probably say that the new situation is her father’s fault too. 

Speaking of fathers, I empathize with Britney’s kids, too. Being raised by someone more emotionally unstable than you are — when you are six — is not healthy. Britney is unhappy because she can’t be with her kids whenever she pleases. I’m glad she isn’t frustrated enough to cut off all contact in that situation, like Jerry did. Like mentally ill people do, sometimes.

Untreated mental illness jacks with your family enough without having media outlets come in and play one side over the other. 

I understand she’s still got someone providing some kind of conservatorship. I honestly hope someone is vetting her friends.

Esteem

I think it speaks well my my former boyfriends that each year I go through the list of MacArthur genius grant recipients looking for their names.  

I never find them, but I still look.

Weekly Paint Progress: 10/7

This week the Buffalo went from  this:

… to this:

It Made Sense at the Time

I had a toothache (technically a gum-ache) and I could not find our OraJel or Anbesol.  No tooth pain goo anywhere.

But I did find this:

We use Neosporin anti-bacterial gel all the time, especially because it has a little pain-relief additive in there.

So it was quite sensible to apply it to my upper and lower gum. It was effective and I was so pleased with myself I told Gary the next day.

”POISON’ he screamed.

”Oh don’t be so dramatic. It’s not POISON.”

He waved the tube in my face.

Oh, damn. It IS poison.

I explained I couldn’t find the other tooth goos, and Gary opened the drawer I had upended already, and plucked out both tooth goos.

So I won’t be doing that again.

Alexa Shopping

Earlier this month when I checked the Alexa shopping list, I found this request:

I laughed, and mentioned it on Facebook. Someone speculated I had said, “Alexa, add [something] syrup to the shopping list.” I haven’t wanted any syrup. I kept it in case I remembered later.

That was last week. This week I saw this:

I have no idea.

Lupoid Sclerosis

My brother spent a stint in the hospital recently, for a stent. He came out without a stent but a tube connecting his liver to a bile drain tube outside of his body.

My job was to read his diagnostic tests off the hospital web site and report back to him the state of his bilirubin and other liver numbers.

One of the tests they ordered was for aPTT, the time it takes for his blood to clot. (45 seconds, if you are wondering, which is a bit long, she typed, entirely violating her brother’s HIPPA rights.)

I followed a Google trail of family buzzwords, from “inherited” to “auto immune” to “lupus” to “lupoid sclerosis.” And then, to “rare” and “controversial” and “debate.”

Interesting, though, that there’s a supposed Lupoid variant of MS in which (if I understand correctly) your slippery non-clotting blood approaches the blood-brain-barrier, sneaks in, and then does a lupus-like attack on your central nervous system. And then, for just an extra touch of soap-opera drama, it gives you a false positive on your syphilis test. 

Can I find any of this today? No, I cannot, at least not in the straightforward form I saw it last week. Still, nice to know that they are out there continuing to research MS, finding new hybrid forms and the like.

My brother is home now. His dog dealt with his absence by chewing up shower curtains. I am worried the dog will feel the the bile drain will have the same mouth-feel as the shower curtain.

The Vatican Top 45

The IMDb for The Lavender Hill Mob sent me to this most Eminent List, the High Holy List of the Vatican’s Most-Favored movies. 

The Vatican’s List of Top 45 Films is divided into three categories: Religion, Values, and Art.

RELIGION

• Andrei Rublev (1966)  … never heard of it in my state of sin 
• Babette's Feast (1987) … have heard of it, wanted to see it, never did. Sin of omission.
• Ben-Hur (1959) … overly loooooong. Good chariot race.
• The Flowers of St. Francis (1950) … never heard of it, cult film I suppose
• Francesco (1989)… never heard of it, must be Italian
• The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1966) … never heard of it, read the book
• La Passion de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ (1905) … never heard of it, French
• A Man for All Seasons (1966) … love this movie! Well, loved the play. Haven’t actually seen it.
• The Mission (1986) … the trailer for this scared me off in the 1980s.
• Monsieur Vincent (1947) … really no idea. Supposedly features the Black Death.
• Nazarin (1958) … never heard of it, but it’s a Vatican-approved satire? Intriguing.
• Ordet (1955) … this is not even a word.
• The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) … I think I’ve seen clips.
• The Sacrifice (1986) … another 1986 movie. Pope was up for the movies this year.
• Therese (1986) … that’s three movies from 1986. Was the Pope dating?

VALUES

• Au Revoir les Enfants (1988) … French!
• Bicycle Thieves (1949) … is this the sequel to The Bicycle Thief? Oh! It’s the same movie. Odd. 
• The Burmese Harp (1956) … Burmese!
• Chariots of Fire (1981) … I did see this, with, Mom, just out of high school.
• Dekalog (1988) … also not a word
• Dersu Uzala (1975) … a space alien word
• Gandhi (1982) … tried twice to watch this and gave up after an hour each time
• Intolerance (1916) … okay, I liked this one.
• It's a Wonderful Life (1946) … okay, everyone likes this one, except Mom, who could never make it past the scene with the lost money.
• On the Waterfront (1954) … another one I’ve given up on halfway through. Clearly the Pope is more patient than I. This makes sense.
• Rome, Open City (1945) … hometown favorite for the Pope.
• Schindler's List (1993) … you bet I liked it. Pope and I give it two thumbs up.
• The Seventh Seal (1957) … another Black Death movie.
• The Tree of Wooden Clogs (1978) … never heard of this either.
• Wild Strawberries (1957) … I think I had a perfume in junior high named Wild Strawberries.

ART

• Citizen Kane (1941) … what? Charles Foster Kane has an affair for half the movie. I guess that’s why this is in the Art category and not the Values category.
• 8½ (1963) … I confused this with 9 1/2 Weeks at first. Still, this is a Fellini movie. Unexpected.
• Fantasia (1940) … Sorcerer’s Apprentices! Film of the Devil!
• Grand Illusion (1937) … I begin to realize I have seen very few of these movies. I do not have the same taste as the pope.
• La Strada (1954) … another Fellini movie. Still unexpected.
• The Lavender Hill Mob (1951) … good choice, still a little fluffy for the Pope’s list.
• The Leopard (1963) … lukewarm reception in the US and prize-winning everywhere else. I never heard of this either. I live in a tighter bubble than the Pope.
• Little Women (1933) … is this the one with Katherine Hepburn as Jo? Good choice.
• Metropolis (1927) … I’ve seen the sexy outfit the robot woman wears. Surprising.
• Modern Times (1936) … I concur. We all love the Little Tramp.
• Napoleon (1927) … I wonder if this was before or after the big restoration of the movie.
• Nosferatu (1922) … what the hell. What. The. Hell.
• Stagecoach (1939) … should have watched it, no excuse.
• 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) … HATED it.
• The Wizard of Oz (1939) … the Pope sees your sorcerers and raises three witches! 

I should stop ragging on the pope, he may well have had his PR cardinal make this list. Still 45 movies and I’ve seen 11. Very low percentage. I am a bad Catholic. I need to watch 8 1/2 as penance.

Reviews: Lavender Hill Mob / M

The Lavender Hill Mob. Last week I watched the The Lavender Hill Mob, which I have often refused to see, thinking it was The Ladykillers, because I have only one neuron available for Alec Guinness movies beginning with L.

I didn’t guffaw all the way through, but I laughed often. The characters are very appealing, there is a ferry-catching scene any traveller will appreciate, and a young Audrey Hepburn has one line. The IMDB entry says the Bank of England helped to plot out the heist, which might explain why there is a giant plot hole around how the mob is caught. 

Now I need to watch The Man in the White Suit and Kind Hearts and Coronets, though I will have to watch that last one alone. (Gary cringes at men in drag.) 

Then, last night, we watched M. Wow. I’ve read about this movie but never seen it. Really remarkable direction for such an early movie. You’ll forget it’s from the 30’s, especially when you see the subject matter. About as far fro The Lavender Hill Mob as you can get.

LBJ Quote

I think with Covid we’ve got another variant on the LBJ quote about making the lowest white man feel superior to the best black man. 

Per Bill Moyers:

We were in Tennessee. During the motorcade, he spotted some ugly racial epithets scrawled on signs. Late that night in the hotel, when the local dignitaries had finished the last bottles of bourbon and branch water and departed, he started talking about those signs. “I’ll tell you what’s at the bottom of it,” he said. “If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.”

And now with Covid we have the least educated man feeling superior to the most educated doctors and scientists. I wonder if they’re emptying their pockets too.